


Confessions

by kissmelikeapirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Priest Killian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmelikeapirate/pseuds/kissmelikeapirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Priest!Killian and Sheriff!Emma. Emma Swan cannot stop herself thinking about Father Jones. She knows it is wrong but just can't stay away...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sermon was in full flow.

The parishioners looked on in rapt attention; each one fixed on every word.

But her focus was on his mouth. The way his lips caressed each word. Their soft fullness. The motion of his tongue as it slipped out to moisten them every now and again.

Occasionally his voice would rise as he made a passionate plea to his flock. The fervor it contained penetrated her skin, like a hot knife through butter, making her core tremble as she saw the passion inside this man. This  _priest_.

She tried closing her eyes a few times. But his voice and that lilting accent - that played with each word, giving it a new flavor and layering it in tissues of meaning - washed over her like a wave and she was soon drowning in his wake.

Desperate, she pressed her hips into the hard wooden surface of the pew where she sat, semi hidden in shadow, at the back of the nave. The flicker of friction made her bite her lip and push her knees tightly together.

She shouldn't be thinking about him.

A man of the cloth.

A priest!

_Celibate…_

Emma knew it was wrong: and that the fact that she knew he was chaste turned her on even more was just terrible. The knowledge that nothing would ever -  _could ever_  happen - did not evade her.

But, damn, she couldn't stop thinking about him.

Ever since that day when she had met the priest - when a petty thief had stolen the collection plate and she was called to St. Robert's - the tension inside her had started to build. She found herself visiting the church on a ludicrously regular basis; part of the rounds of course, she told herself. But then she began to volunteer - the roof raising auction, the annual summer fete, helping organize the candlelight carols at Christmas… Anything to be near him, to see his warm smile, to enjoy the way her body twitched and melted in his presence.

She let herself look up at the pulpit. His large hands were moving to emphasize his words, clenching and pleading and reaching out to the congregation. The crisp white chasuble he wore draped over his cassock created a stark contrast of light and dark. Right and wrong. Good and evil.

The pure and the forbidden.

On his face she detected the barest hint of stubble. She sighed, imagining the feel of it rubbing across her cheeks and down her chest as he explored her body, slowly, achingly…

The chorus of, 'amen' shook her from her thoughts. Pulling her coat a little tighter around her shoulders, she tried to fight away the chill that had began to pervade her. One of anticipation. Of nervousness.

A smile had risen on his lips.

His blue eyes: she could see them sparkling even from afar. She had always thought there was something hidden in his gaze. An edge. Something kept underneath the surface that she craved to understand and know more of. Secrets. Passions.

The chorus of the final hymn began to play, the thick music of the organ filled the room as she half heartedly mouthed the words. Inside her chest, her heart began to race and the cool, sickness of nerves crept into her stomach.

Because today, Emma Swan needed to confess something.

The passion inside her that was tearing her apart.

The dreams.

The feeling that they belonged.

The nightmares of him - the ones where he left and she was alone and bereft…

So she was going to tell him.

Ease her burden.

It was selfish, of course. But the need inside her was greater than that of reason and even though Emma knew that falling madly, passionately in love with a priest was possibly the stupidest thing she had ever done, she couldn't help it.

He needed to know.

As she formed the sign of the cross and her fellow Storybrooke residents rose, a new determination swirled inside her. Be damned with the consequences. The time for secrets was over.

* * *

The flood of parishioners leaving dwindled into a slow trickle. She watched him from afar, waiting patiently.

Finally he slipped away into the vestibule, returning minutes later, free of his priestly robes, now dressed more simply in a charcoal grey shirt and black slacks; the white square at his collar the only indication of his status.

He made his way to the confessional; the clipped sound of his shoes was loud against the tiled floor.

Emma again waited. She looked around the now empty church- checking no one else was there; making sure that they had… privacy, of a sort.

Heart in her throat, she quickly covered the distance to him, pausing to take a deep breath as she stepped inside the wooden booth and sank onto the low, narrow seat.

Across the lattice work that separated them she could hear his breathing, steady and deep. His presence was already working on her in wicked, wicked ways: coiling inside her like the tightening of a spring. The same feeling she always got when he was close. But now it was magnified tenfold in the confined space.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned."

"How long has it been since your last confession, child?"

"I-" she paused, heart racing, "This is my first."

She could hear the smile in his voice, "It's never too late to repent."

Thank God, she thought - the irony in his response not escaping her as she shifted on the uncomfortable seat.

Letting out a soft laugh, she dampened her lips with her tongue. "Father… I've been having thoughts. Impure ones."

"Hm." The thud in her chest seemed to grow exponentially in the seconds of silence that passed. "We all, at times, struggle with undesirable urges," he finally replied.

 _Oh but they are not undesirable_ , she thought, moving closer to the partition. "Do  _you_ , Father?"

He seemed to hesitate. She was sure he must have recognized her voice by now, its low and silky tones were rather unmistakable, of that she was very much aware. But she liked knowing he knew it was her; moreover she needed and wanted him to know.

"Of course, child. I am but a man, and even men of God must suffer through the same trials as their lay cousins. These feelings you have - urges perhaps - they are natural. You must not punish yourself unduly."

Steeling herself, her lips parted again - "I understand. But Father, these feelings - urges - I have been having. They are for someone who I can never be with."

Across the small space, she heard a breath sink from his chest, "Is this man… married?"

"Not exactly-"

"I do not understand, child."

Time to bite the bullet.

"It's complicated. He's, in a way, married to his job. He is… chaste…"

The breath that had just escaped his chest was quickly sucked back in. He seemed to rear backwards into the cubicle.

"Oh-"

Emma began to blush a little, a prickly heat rising on her cheeks.

"And, what of these thoughts… How…" His voice trailed of, cracking a little. She could tell he was trying to restrain himself, keep his surprise hidden. But at the same time she knew he was curious; she could hear the lilt of questioning rising as he spoke.

"I can't stop thinking about kissing him. Every day when I wake, I see his face. I imagine the feel of his lips on my skin and it burns me inside. Knowing it can never be."

"Go on," he urged, barely a whisper.

"He is in my thoughts every moment. Sometimes I let my mind wander…" Emma slipped a hand onto her neck, trying to cool down the burning sensation that always arose when she allowed herself to think about him; allowed her mind to indulge itself.

"And?"

"I can almost feel his flesh against mine. Sometimes it feels so real I-" she swallowed, "I think I'm going crazy. It's almost as if I've been with him before - my mind tells me exactly how it would feel - every touch of his hands - his mouth, the sound of his voice as he whispers in my ear, telling me just how much he wants me and I-" she paused again, her voice breaking

And perhaps she was imagining it, but he seemed to be almost panting. She looked up at the partition. His forehead was resting against it now; tendrils of hair peeked through.

"Father-"

"Yes," he replied quickly.

"Do you know who I am talking about?"

"Yes," he repeated, his voice lower. "I think I do…"

"And?" she asked, her voice raising slightly as her brow furrowed.

She heard him swallow, heard his body shift against his own seat.

"Continue…"

With a soft groan, she let those vivid scenarios she would usually try and hold back flood her mind.

"I've dreamed of him making love to me. So many times - I've lost count. It's so real… His hands on me, touching every inch of my skin, kissing me so tenderly I want to cry out for the want of it-"

There was a grunt across the thin wall; followed by a soft thud that sounded like a fist glancing off the wood.

"It's like I'm losing my mind. I know what it would feel like to be with him. But I know it can never be…"

"It can never be," he echoed in a soft whisper.

"No."

This time the quiet was deafening, not comforting. All those images and thoughts cluttered her mind and she quickly became overwhelmed. She had revealed her secret - confessed herself to him. And that was…that.

She felt deflated.

Why had she done this? She would never be able to look at him again…

"Em-" he began, before correcting himself, " _Child_. You say you cannot be with him. Because he is… unavailable. But what do you know of his feelings for you?"

The question took her by surprise. She'd never thought of his feelings - his desires - assuming that it was impossible for him to consider any woman as something more than a friend or an acquaintance.

"I- I don't know."

"Have you asked him?" he quickly asked. The burn between her legs increased a degree. She hadn't been expecting this.

"I-I…"

Her voice quivered with unexpected emotion as tension filled the air around her like a choking fog, sucking the oxygen from the space and leaving her breathless. But then he spoke again and she didn't get a chance to answer.

"You asked me, if I ever… struggle with unwanted feelings."

"I did…" she whispered.

"There is someone," he began, his voice getting quieter with every word, "Someone of whom I think very highly of. But I cannot deny that my carnal urges are sparked by this… person."

Emma reached up and placed one hand on the wall that separated them, bringing her ear closer the the partition.

"How do you cope?"

She could swear he laughed, just a little, then she heard him cluck his tongue and take a deep breath - every sound magnified in the small space. "How does anyone? Prayer. Penance."

"And does this work?"

And Emma prayed that he would say no, just as she prayed and wished that he was talking about her.

She was sure he was talking of her. It had to be her.

"Sometimes," was his cryptic reply and she felt her self begin to melt in a puddle of want and need and unexpected hope. "But when I am alone," he continued, "And my mind is clear, she is there. And I'm tortured by visions of her beauty - her skin, eyes, lips, body; so much so I can feel their presence and - and it's overwhelming."

"What do you do, when you feel this way?" she asked, almost breathlessly.

"What would any man do?" was his simple reply, accompanied by the soft opening of a zipper and the rustling of fabric being moved.

"I want to hear you," she blurted out, be damned with the consequences. Maybe they couldn't be together but she yearned to hear him, be near him-

The heavy breathing was her reply.

Instinctively she pulled up the hem of her skirt and slipped her hand into her underwear, silently thanking someone that she had not chosen to wear her usual pants. The wetness she found was soft and hot and her fingers sank into herself so effortlessly she had to stifle a little cry.

"What-," she swallowed as her fingers rubbed over her clit, biting her tongue gently, "What urges do you talk of?"

The gently slapping of skin against skin told her he was working on himself as she spoke. She'd never felt desire like it. Filling her like rising floodwater, lapping over her edges and washing over her in crashing waves. His closeness was strangely metered by the thin wall dividing them - an odd sensation of intimacy and concurrent solitude overcame her.

"I want to take her -peel away her clothes, lavish her skin with my tongue, taste her-"

The image of his tongue trailing across her body began to drive her wild.

"I want to feel her wetness, her hotness against my mouth, my fingers, my-" he hesitated, she could hear him moaning slightly and his pace quickening, "cock."

"Oh God," she muttered, working her fingers faster, alternately slipping inside her already pulsing core and rubbing tight little circles against her bundle of nerves.

This was wrong, wrong,  _wrong…_

But she couldn't stop.

"I want the same… I want him inside me. I want to feel the burn. I want him to take me. I want to wrap my lips around him and make him quiver with desire. I want to envelope him with my body until he cries out-"

The stifled moan from the other side of the room made her stop. Soft little groans followed. Her stomach flipped, pules of electricity flooded her body and she felt her strength sapping away as she finally muttered, "I want you…"

And as her world began to cascade around her, she could swear she heard him say, "And I you."

* * *

It was seconds later before she came to- or maybe minutes or even hours? Time seemed to disappear as her vision blurred and her hearing was overtaken by a high pitched dining noise.

She began to breath more softly, composing herself, as she straightened her skirt and pushed back from the wall where she had slumped.

Had she imagined this all?

Wearily, she opened the small wooden door and slipped out into the silent church.

Where had he gone?

She turned to close the door and her breath caught as she saw a small slip of paper on the floor - neatly folded in half - on its front, in simple fluid script, was one word.  ** _Emma._**

Scooping it up she quickly turned it over.

Three words only.

Three words that made her heart skip and told her she most certainly had not been dreaming.

**_11pm. The docks._ **

**_Reviews are the food of my muse!_ **


	2. Chapter 2

_**I'm amazed and blown away by the response to this fic! All the reviews and Tumblr messages - thanks guys!** _

* * *

Icy needles of rain prickled the exposed skin of her face that peeked out from the hood of her coat. The air was fresh: laced with a hint of salt that caught in the back of her throat when she took a breath and made her tongue curl slightly.

The downpour danced on the tin roofs of the boat sheds - creating a gentle pitter patter sound that was almost soothing in its melodic rhythm. Sighing, she lay back against the wall, trying to escape the worst of the dampness, whilst simultaneously willing her racing heart to abate itself.

He wasn't coming.

She knew it.

She felt ridiculous for even thinking he would.

Shaking her head, she pushed away from the wall while her mind began to plan how she would now avoid him. How could she look him in the eye after that morning?

But then she heard soft, quick footsteps emerging through the storm.

She paused.

Then a shadowed figure began to appear in the distance - wearing a long, black coat with the collar pulled up around the neck.

Was it-?

"Emma."

He was too far away for her to see his face clearly. But she could see the trails of water weeping from his hair and down his cheeks like a thousand tears. The faint, yellowish radiance that was cast from the solitary security light at the dock picked out the sharp lines of his features: his strong jaw and downcast brow.

"It's late. I thought you weren't coming."

Hesitating, he stopped about six feet away from her. The rain was getting heavier and making it difficult to see much further than she could reach. "I almost didn't," he admitted, pulling the collar tighter to his neck. The torrent of rain was beginning to saturate him.

"You need to get out of the rain - you'll catch your death in this storm."

Then he looked directly at her for the first time since he had arrived. His cool eyes somehow pierced through the darkness.

"This is wrong," he called out.

A few seconds passed.

"What you did - I did, that was wrong. I can not see you again. Please assign one of your deputies to the church."

His brow creased as he took a few heavy breaths, staring at her as thought she were almost a stranger with a strange detachment that made her shiver.

"You came all this way to tell me that?" she snapped, the tension of waiting spilling out in each tart word.

The way his face crumpled for a moment, told her that this was not his original plan. In an instant her mind imagined him racing to meet her. Pausing. Pacing. The doubt in his mind. The resolution to end things before they had even begun.

"Are you scared of me?" she goaded and he flinched but didn't speak.

Suddenly, enraged by his silence, she surged forward and wrapped her hand around his arm and tugged him towards the shelter under the eaves.

"Let me go," he spat, "What are you trying to do Emma?" He almost growled her name, the sound coming from the back of his throat and penetrating her skin with ease. Her stomach contracted.

Then she laughed, shaking her head and looking up at the darkened sky full with thick, heavy clouds. "I don't know. I don't. But what I do know is that when I'm with you I feel something I've never felt before. Something in my stomach that just wont go away and tells me we belong."

He wiped his face with the back of his hand before using the same hand to push back the saturated hair that had flopped over his forehead.

"It's impossible," he muttered, lowering his gaze to the floor and letting his shoulders sag. "Even if I did  _want_ you-"

"You know it's more than that fath-  _Killian."_

 _"_ Whatever the case may be," he continued, stepping a fraction closer so the light behind him was now hidden and causing a line of illumination to draw around his frame, almost like a halo, "I made a vow, one I cannot break. For anyone." His voice softened at the last words and fell from his lips with somber reluctance. She could see, now that he was closer, that the usual lustre in his eyes was gone, replaced with resigned sadness. "I committed myself to God and hell - I already need to repent and beg my soul. That shouldn't have happened earlier. And yes - I have thought of you. Wanted you.  _Craved you._  But the lord sends these things to try us. It's a test."

He was looking over her shoulder now, almost as if he  _was_ scared - scared that perhaps if he looked in her eyes his resolution may crumble.

"God be damned Killian!" He flinched as she cursed his beliefs, "Look, I don't know if there even is a God or a heaven or a hell for that matter. But I know whatever I -  _we_  are feeling is not normal, not ordinary. It's not just lust dammit! Can't you see that?" She was almost whining now - begging him to give them a chance, pleading that he look past his collar and think like a man with a heart and a mind of his own. "Look at me!"

And when he finally did the look on his face crushed her: knocking the air from her chest and causing her shoulders to curl inwards. He looked  _tortured._ Slowly he reached out a hand, brushing the backs of his fingers across the soft skin of her cheek.

"I see that. I  _feel_  that." A smile flicked over his face before he dropped his hand. "But I believe in keeping an oath." His fingers began to play with the small, gold crucifix that always around his neck on a whisper thin chain. "You may not care about such things but I do."

Looking at him she realised he meant every word. He did feel the same. Something was crackling between them like wet kindling on a fire, puffing out smoke and straining to catch alight. He was trying to douse those fames with his faith and she instantly felt his torture and her heart sank with the realisation that she was the cause of if.

Closing her eyes, she whispered, "I'm sorry. I was selfish to approach you like that."

She heard him exhale slowly. She opened her lids and looked down at his hands: he was wringing them together anxiously. She caught one in her own hand and he stopped.

"I mean it. I'm the cause of your pain. I was selfish and- I apologise."

It was only half true. She did not regret sharing her feelings or their shared moment in the church - the ecstasy and expectation of those hours when she hoped and believed, at least in part, that he felt the same. But she did feel shame that he was hurting inside and all she wanted to do was to take that pain away.

And then Emma Swan began to cry. Emma who had last cried in front of another person on the day the son she gave up for adoption was taken from her and had henceforth closed off her emotions to others. It was an odd sensation. Her eyes stung at first. Involuntarily, she blinked and the first waves of wetness coated her eyes and were instantly chilled by the cool breeze. She blinked a few more times, trying to hold them back. But there were too strong. Small pools of tears began to gather on the rim of her bottom lid, threatening to tumble and cascade forth over her cheeks. She lifted her hand and tried to wipe her eyes before he could see.

"You're crying," he said, almost matter-of-factly.

"Surprised?" she laughed, sniffing a little as she lifted her head, "The big bad sheriff has feelings after all."

He edged closer. Her back as now against the wall of the boathouse behind her and he was within the zone of what would be considered intimacy.

"A little," he admitted.

Their eyes met as tentative smiles were reflected on their faces. They were connected in that moment. Not a priest or a sheriff, just Killian and Emma: a man and a woman who were inexplicably drawn together.

"You really do care for me," he wondered, in a half whisper.

Dampening her lips with her tongue, she gave a small shy shrug in reply. "I wasn't lying."

Then something snapped, like an overstretched elastic band that had grown sharp and tense before giving way.

His mouth was on hers. Hips jutting against each other. One hand cupping her ass and lifting her until she was pressed firmly against the wall by his body. His fingers gathered her hair and wound it around his hand until he had a firm grip - tugging her head to face him, giving him greater purchase of her mouth.

And his lips, God, they felt like heaven. Warm and sensuous they applied just the right amount of pressure to leave her sated but wanting more. Making her press herself more firmly to him, as she dug her hands into his still damp hair and combed her fingers through the thick, silky strands with wild abandon.

His soft panting combined with the hardness that was now beginning to press into her hip made her spine tingle cooly whilst a counter flush of heat cast over her chest and neck and made her cheeks burn.

He tugged her head to one side and dragged his teeth over the prominent vein that skirted the side of her neck; she felt her heart jump and the coolness in her spine began to bubble and spread lower, making her thighs shake and her core throb and ache.

Returning to her mouth, he began to scoop his tongue inside; dragging it across her own and filling her with the taste and essence of himself. Clean and warm and just  _Killian._  She felt him moving her body along the wall and she tethered herself to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself up until she saw his goal. The small door to the left of them. He fumbled for the handle. It was open.

The old wood and glass door shuddered as he kicked it, the ancient hinges creaking with rust. Inside it smelled of old paint and the lingering damp of a neglected space. Finally he set her down and she stumbled backwards until she met the resistance of a wooden crate that caused her knees to buckle as she sank to sit.

"I can't pretend any more." His voice cracked as he looked up, she saw flashes of conflict marring his features before they were replaced by a resolute expression and a firm, fixed jaw. "Emma, I've wanted you since I first saw you. I've tried to hide it. Tried to forget-"

"Then have me," she whimpered.

He closed the gap between them: pulling her back to her feet, his lips instantly returning to hers as his hands worked the buttons of her thick coat undone.

She reciprocated in kind. Their kisses were hot and messy and urgent as they desperately tried to disrobe one another.

She was surprised to find him wearing a t-shirt and jeans under his coat. She had never seen him so casual, and the thin material highlighted the lean muscles of his arms and chest that had heretofore been hidden. She delighted in running her fingers down his arms and across his waist, hitching up the material as her fingers danced over the trail of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his dark denim jeans.

Snatching back her head, she looked him in the eye, "Do you… I mean, have you ever-"

She didn't quite know how to ask the chaste priest who she was about to  _fuck_ if he had ever had sex before.

His mouth flinched in something akin to amusement, "Before the vow… I had my share of physical pleasures…"

She wanted to laugh at his awkward way of phrasing things, but instead she tugged off his t-shirt to reveal his gloriously dark skin and hair covered chest, and quickly she began to run her lips over the soft surface.

"Emma…" he muttered; one hand began to stroke her hair as the other tugged at her thin sweater, drawing it over her head as she pulled away from him and met his eyes with a playful glint.

Oh, it was more than lust. He knew it. She knew it. But tonight there was only one things on both their minds.

Nimble fingers worked his fly and tugged his jeans down over his hips, dragging down his underwear at the same time until his cock was bobbing in her face. Not wanting to wait, she instantly flicked out her tongue and licked his tip.

The noise he made when her fingers wrapped around his thick length was somewhere in between a cry and growl. He was so hot and heavy and hard, she pressed her knees together as she anticipated the sensation of him slipping inside and pressing against her walls. Eagerly, she pushed him into her mouth, her jaw cramping as it stretched to accommodate him, pressing him further into her throat as her eyes began to water and he started to moan.

"Christ almighty."

His fingers tangled in her hair and motioned her into a pace that had him panting in seconds: she tightened her lips and sucked in her cheeks, creating a vacuum of tension in her mouth that made his knees begin to shake and buckle-

"Fuck," he cried, as he yanked back his hips and grabbed her shoulder - pulling her up and pressing her backwards. "I need you now. I can't wait."

She gasped as he roughly yanked off her boots and wrestled with the fly of her jeans, dragging them over her thighs and with them her panties, until she was naked except for her pink cotton bra.

The air was frigid. But the fire in his eyes and the rising warmth in her belly distracted her from embracing the chill and instead she let him lift her until she found herself perched on the edge of a coarse wooden bench.

His jaw flexed, the muscles tensing, as he kicked off his own boots and jeans.

Damn, he was beautiful, she thought. His handsome face masked by lust and desire, his perfectly formed body in its prime and begging to be touched.

She reached around her back and unpicked the clasp of her bra, tossing it aside. His eyes widened. She could almost feel the increase in chemicals that was brewing in both their bodies.

"Have me," she whispered again.

Time slowed. His hands were on her chest. His lips on her shoulders. Her fingers grasped his waist and trailed over his ass. She tugged him closer, rolling back her hips until their centers met and the tip of his hardness was dancing over her slick core. She rocked against him until she felt him enter her - just a fraction. Sucking in a deep breath, she slipped back a little against the table before quickly pulling him towards her, instantly sheathing him inside her and making them both cry out.

"Move," she begged, dragging her hands to his hips and starting to buck up against him - desperately wanting the friction of him pushing into her to mix with the heaven of him inside her and make her forget for a moment and just feel.

He planted his hands on either side of her body as she slowly lay back on the worn surface. Quickly he began to thrust into her - hard and heavy and almost out of control. Each one forced her body further up the table, making her feel the prickle of the rough wood against her back which she knew would leave her red and sore.

She wanted him tighter - closer - she wanted to be consumed by him. She hitched her legs around his hips and held him in place. Despite his increasing moans he seemed aware enough to see what she wanted, moving his hands so they slid around her back and gripped her shoulders, holding her in place.

Each thrust now was so deep and so full she wanted to scream.

"Yes," she panted, "Yes."

Reality blurred. She wasn't in a dark, cold room. She was floating, airless, free. He was melded with her and carrying her away from everything.

Her head became light with the friction and fullness was taking her over.

His body was pressed against hers. His quick breaths tickled her neck.

This could not be wrong. Never. Never-

"Come with me," she begged as she felt herself begin to lose control.

Instantly he picked up his pace, where they were joined was now slick with a mixture of sweat and arousal creating a delicious fluidity. Seconds later she cracked: "Killian-"

A few quick thrusts and he was there too - indecipherable words dripping from his lips as he dug his face into her chest - tugging on her breasts with his teeth devouring her taught nipples with his mouth. His body sparking with electricity until his release was complete.

Neither spoke for a few minutes. His head on her chest. Her legs still slung around his waist.

Eventually he lifted his head. He looked almost sheepish now the cloud of desire had lifted a little as he drew his hand around her head again and leant down into a cool, sensual kiss.

They were both thinking the same thing, but it was Emma who said it.

"What do we do now?"

Killian sighed and began to play with her earlobe with his thumb and forefinger.

"That," he replied, "Is a very good question."

**A review is always appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all for all the wonderful reviews and support. You are all awesome!**

She held her breath as the door closed behind her; the click of the latch seemed to echo around the empty space and she froze for a second, stilling her breath as she waited to see if she had been discovered. 

The soft tick-tock of the clock along the hall was the only sound, breaking through the silence in little bursts. She was safe. Letting out the breath she was holding, she crept forward, careful not to step too heavily on the creaking wooden floorboards. 

His rooms were built onto the back of the church - an extension to the building that was recent and accessed via the door behind the chapel that she had just closed. The corridor it opened into split into two - on one side the apartments were the nuns lived, and on the other, Killian’s rooms.

Heart racing, she inched closer to him. It had been two days since they had seen each other: since that snatched moment they had shared out by the old troll bridge. Her skin burned and her mouth curved into a smile as she remembered… Her shirt open, skirt hitched up, his mouth on her chest, his pants slipping down his hips as he eased himself free and quickly inside her: her back, flush up against a tree… The burn, the ache... His hand covering her mouth as she came and shattered around him…

Burning at the memory, she reached his door and gently turned the handle. Thankfully, priests seemed not to lock their doors so she slipped easily inside - a smile tugging at her lips and excitement brewing in her chest.

The sound of a voice whispering became louder as she made her through the sparsely furnished living room to where he slept. It was his voice, soft and low: with that melodic tone that hypnotized her when he whispered in her ear as he held her tight.

He was on his knees. His head was bowed and his hands grasped together at his lips. Trailing from his fingers was a rosary: jet black beads that he eased between his fingers as his whispered prayers filled the room.

Transfixed, she stood and watched him. The way he was so perfectly still, the fervor in his voice … The brewing want in her stomach began to mix with something more - admiration, perhaps pride even - as she watched him pray, so regal and loyal, his hair slipping over his eyes, his back straight and shoulders broad…

When he turned and looked at her, she instantly felt the crimson rise on her cheeks. The rosary slipped from his hands until it hung on only one finger and his palm closed around it as he slipped it into his pocket. Silently he stood, quickly reaching her side, one hand sliding thought her hair with a slow, steady stroke.

The sensation of his touch sparked a greater desire in her than she thought possible. All of a sudden she was wearing far too many clothes. She felt hot and restless. Emma dug her fingers into his shoulder as he dropped his head until their foreheads met and he let out a soft breath. 

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, his other hand tracing the neckline of her shirt, toying with the first button as she arched her head to meet his lips in a soft kiss.

“Mmm,”  she murmured into his lips, feeling him smile as their kiss deepened and he pulled her closer.

A fluttering sensation began to fill her chest as she reached onto her toes: trying to press every inch of herself against him, wanting to meld their bodies together: to breathe the same air, to share the same skin…

She felt him finger the closure of her shirt, each button coming undone in turn. She could feel the soft skin of his fingers as they brushed against the newly bared skin: goose bumps spread out and her nipples began to harden beneath the cotton of her bra. Her eyes squeezed closed as she let all her fears bleed away. 

When they were alone they could be happy - forget. No more hidden glances and rushed smiles, no more furtive touches, just him and her.

She pressed him back towards the small bed that was pushed into one corner, below a tiny window covered in a simple grey curtain. Both his hands found their way to her waist and he slid his fingers up and down the soft curve, gently tracing lines and circles - tickling her skin and making her bite her lip so she wouldn’t cry out.

At the foot of the bed, she pulled her shirt out from the waist of her pants and shrugged it to the floor. Looking up, she saw him gazing at her in wonder: his beautiful, beautiful smile - the one he seemed to keep only for her - illuminating his features and brightening his eyes, even in the darkness. Her stomach flipped and the fluttering in her chest increased.

The want between the two was palpable - but it was more than a physical need. It seeped into the air around them, dusted over their skin and drew them together. He trailed his fingers over her arms and she sighed in simple satisfaction: his touch alone bringing her peace and hope .

Then she saw around his neck that little square of white: the reminder of what this was in reality…

_A dirty dalliance,_ Emma _, just a fling. Never more. Never anything more…_

The little voice that taunted her was the manifestation of her conscience: that part of her that felt that what they were doing was wrong. Immoral. Bad.

She clawed at the  dog collar  \- tugging it free and tossing it on the floor, ridding him of the reminder of what he really was…

Tumbling back on to the bed, she took his hand and guided him on top of her. The weight of his body as he pressed her into the bed radiated ripples of pleasure through her.

“I wish we didn’t have to hide,”  she whispered, humming softly as his lips traced her jaw and his nose nudged against her cheek.

“I too, love,”  he replied, kissing her cheek softly before cradling her face between his hands.

His eyes: so blue and clear, they made her heart melt. The way he looked at her - like she was something wonderful and rare and precious… Something tightened around her heart and she felt herself begin to come open at the seams.

She couldn’t look away. She didn’t want that moment to end: the warmth overwhelming as her heart beat out the seconds that passed as he stroked her cheek and made her feel like the only woman who had ever been cherished by a man.

Desperate to feel him, she tugged his shirt undone then undid the fastening of his pants - using her foot to push them to the bottom of the bed - enjoying how his hardness was now free to press at her hip.

He rolled her over as she started to groan into his neck, relishing in skin contact: that basic, primal urge to be free and naked overtaking her as she quickly removed her own jeans whilst alternating between tugging on his lips and nuzzling into his neck.

“I’ve been dreaming of this all day,” she told him, wrapping her arms around his neck and playing with his hair.

“As have I,”  he replied.

His mouth moved to her chest - his tongue licking along the line of her bra, just touching the pinkish skin of her nipple and making her breath catch in her throat. He was barely touching her but she was on fire. She pressed her hips tighter and he growled dangerously. That sexy, dark side of him coming to the fore as he looked up her body and those blue eyes shifted into the navy waters of a dark sea - all brooding wonder and simmering heat.

“Come here, sexy,”  she panted and pressed her mouth to his, letting her hand slip under the band of his underwear and feel the hot, thick weight of his cock in her hand, squeezing it and rubbing her finger over its rounded tip whilst bucking her hips against his and purring softly.

Her bra was gone in a few seconds, tossed away and forgotten so he could cover her nipples with his hot mouth - his tongue lapping in time with her soft strokes along his length.

_Heaven,_ she thought as pulses of pleasure threaded through her flesh,  _this is what heaven feels like._

His fingers walked down her stomach and into her underwear - she flinched a little at his touch. His hands were slightly cool and they traced over her folds, teasing her, before his fingers touched her wetness and smeared it around her cunt. Emma squirmed beneath him.

“Tease,” she whispered, digging one hand into the muscles of his back as she squeezed his cock harder with the other.

“You’re one to talk,” he retorted, releasing one nipple before leaning into the next and lavishing it with the same attention.

“Trying to say you don’t like this,” she said, quickening her pace.

Stilling, he rubbed his face into her chest, his thick hair tickling her chin, “Oh love, believe me, I  _love_ it. But if you continue you may be a little … disappointed this evening.”

As if in retaliation, he pushed a finger inside of her, quickly curving it until he hit a sensitive spot and her head rolled back and her own grip loosened.

“Fair point,” she muttered, rolling her hips languidly and strumming out her growing arousal and wishing this moment could never end.

His mouth was at her ear, his warm breath moistening the skin on her neck, his tongue playing with her earlobe. “Emma?” he asked.

“Hmmm?” she asked, almost lost under his ministrations. 

“May I make love to you?”

Something dropped in her belly at his words. Her muscles clenched. 

He’d never used that term before.

_Make love_.

In fact, they’d never really discussed it. Each time they had found themselves alone over the past few weeks it had happened.  They fell into it with the ease of lovers who had a lifetime to discover each other.

“Yes,” she whispered. Her voice shook slightly. He must have felt her shiver. He kissed her cheek softly as he pulled down her underwear. 

“You know I care for you Emma? A great deal,” he promised, his words echoing around her mind as he rose his hips to meet her own, shifting one arm under her waist so her hips were angled against his hardness, the other hand tracing her cheek.

She nodded. Unable to speak.

Gently, he eased inside her.

She tightened around him pressed deeper: so achingly slowly, so lovingly, so adoringly…

“Killian,” she cried as she hooked her feet around his thighs to hold him in place and they both adjusted to the crushing and overwhelming sensation of being joined in body and mind.

Nuzzling against her face, he dropped kisses on her forehead and cheeks.

Never in her life had she ever felt so- so-  _loved._

The thought thudded in her mind, the consequences rippling through her, threatening to overwhelm her until he began to move and quickly wiped her mind…

Instead her body ached and twisted and arched - vying for his touch and heat. 

She felt powerless. She let him take control, and her body went slightly limp as each stroke removed more of her resistance and restraint.

Emma couldn’t understand how he worked her body - how he knew her so well - where he had learned to move his flesh against her own in a way that had her seeing stars and crashing down within minutes. It didn’t make sense.  _A priest_. Even if he had been intimate with a woman before-

But those thoughts were washed away as her climax approached. Her fingers spread over his chest. Her breathing was more of a pant now, uneven and desperate as she tried to hold back the urge to scream out his name and cry damnation at him all at once. 

He must have seen the struggle in her eyes. In fact, she saw it reflected in his own. His thrusts quickened. He pressed his mouth against hers, pulling her into a deep kiss as those final barriers disappeared and she sank into oblivion, dragging him along by her side.

 

* * *

 

His arms around her were strong and firm. His chin rested against her neck and he dropped a kiss on her shoulder from time to time. His body was warm against her back, legs pressed up into her own and holding her tight.

“What excuse did you give this time?”  she asked, as she looked around at the clothing that was scattered on her floor - evidence of the passion of their earlier trysts.

“I said I had some ministries to make. Some souls to save.”

She stifled a laugh and relaxed into his further.

Since their tryst in his rooms a week ago, not more than half a day had gone by without one seeking the other out. Sometimes all that was possible was a kiss, or maybe a few whispered words. But she lived for those moments. She craved them. She craved  _him_.

“What are we going to do?” she sighed, as the reality of their situation hung above her like a small grey cloud.

Gently he nudged her onto her back. The way we looked at her almost crushed her heart. So full of longing and want…

“I don’t know…”  he admitted, dropping his gaze. “But Emma… I think, I think-“ his voice choked up a little and she could see tears forming in his eyes.

Her heart froze in fear - no, he was going to end it. He was going to say this was wrong and he regretted it and-

Her heart started to race as cool fear chilled her blood.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

A whoosh of blood racing filled her ears, followed by a soft buzzing noise.

Panic. She was panicking.

She felt her own color drain as he stared down at her, his face crumpling slightly.

“Emma?”

Seconds ticked by as she ordered her thoughts.

He was falling for her… Why did that scare her so?

But she knew why. 

It was because she was falling for him too.

“I-“  she began as she finally found her voice, only to be stilled as her bedroom door swung open.

“Em-“

Frozen, they both turned to the door. Mary Margaret stood open-mouthed, her eyes darted around the scene quickly, taking in the scattered clothing, the bodies in the bed-

“I’m sorry,” she blushed. She was just about to look away when Emma realized she had seen him. She saw the way her eyes became round and her mouth dropped open and she just stared.

“Mary Margaret, I- we can explain,”  she began to ramble, pulling the sheet tighter around her body.

“Pardon me, I should have knocked, I’ll, um, leave you and-“

As she mumbled her face flashed red and she started to pull the door closed.

“Mary Margaret, wait!”  Emma cried as her friend disappeared. “Crap.”

“Indeed,”  whispered Killian as his eyes ran over her face and searched for something, but she wasn’t sure what. “Do you think she will tell anyone?”

“No. I don’t think so,”  she admitted, “She has the strongest moral compass of anyone I know though. I can’t imagine what’s going through her head right now.”

He pushed back a few unruly strands of hair. “I guess we were playing our luck.”

“Yeah,”  she agreed, smiling a little, in spite of it all.

A cool dread came over her as she thought of how she would have to try and explain herself later that day.

Her earlier, interrupted, conversation with Killian became pushed to the back of her mind.

 

  **A review is always appreciated :D**


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